


ain't that a kick in the head

by notthebigspoon



Series: Stick 'Em Up [15]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I shouldn't have to say this to you of all people McCarthy, but I'm brain damaged, not stupid."</p>
            </blockquote>





	ain't that a kick in the head

“Gotta say, I'm curious about how it feels from your side of it.”

“What do you mean, my side of it?”

“The unattached guy dating a married couple. Do you feel left out?”

“No. We fit together. It's been made more than clear I'm part of it. Also, if I say the words single or unattached in front of Jalynne, she smacks me. I get my worst headaches when I piss her off. We're in it for the long haul. How does Suzuki feel about it? Or does he tell you?”

“What? How'd you-”

“I shouldn't have to say this to you of all people McCarthy, but I'm brain damaged, not stupid. You talk about him way too much for it to be just friends. Also, the background on your phone is him and your wife kissing. So, y'know. That was a hint.”

“Huh. He does fine with it. Mostly he gets pissy about being out there while we're out here. And that's still handling it better than I do. Amanda says I have tantrums.”

“Worse since you got hit in the head?”

“Mostly I get headaches and dizziness. Sometimes a little queasy. But it's not that bad. Like a mild hangover. How's yours? The PCS?”

“Brutal. I'd have headaches, I'd get dizzy, I'd always feel like throwing up. Have medication for different symptoms. For a long time, I couldn't track plays for shit. When I finally got them to let me get on the field for warm up, do some long toss and shit, I was a mess. It was like a little league game, just standing there and watching the pretty balls sail by. It was getting better before I took the foul. I was down to just the physical symptoms and forgetfulness.”

“And now?”

“Headaches and nausea are back, don't know how bad they're going to be this soon after. But I'm not worried about it.”

“How can you not?”

“Jay told me already thinking my career was over wasn't going to help me get it back. Figured she was right. When we move to the house, me and Brandon are supposed to start training. See if I can't start running without wanting to fall over and throw up on someone's shoes.”

“I hated that part of it. And the knowing what you want to do with your hands but not being able to make your hands do it. Wanting to say something but not being able to get the right words out. Saying something completely beyond what you mean. Didn't last that long for me though. Not as long as it sounded like it lasted for you. Which, y'know, you get your head battered by a gigantic manape in a filthy bar back room, that's different than taking a line drive to the skull.”

“A little bit, yeah. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the fighting. Fuck I miss it. Sometimes I want to turn around and punch the nearest person.”

“Still can't picture you as the cage fighting type.”

“Most people can't. But I was good, damned good. Just drew a bad card with a guy that was bigger and meaner than I am.”

“Don't think that's hard to find.”

“Fuck you, McCarthy.”

“Get in line, Theriot. Look, I gotta get home and pack for Detroit. It was good seeing you. Email me or something, okay? Tell me if you talk to any parking meters or shit.”

“Later man.”

“Later.”


End file.
